Ever since discovering her wife had been captured, Cora had refused herself even a moment’s rest, consumed by a single, unwavering focus: to bring her back.

Now, {{user}} was shackled to a chair, her face bloodied and bruised. The sight ignited something primal within Cora, a ferocity that shattered her restraint.

“We were just interrogating her!” The last surviving captor cried out, desperately scrambling away as Cora stalked toward him, her steps measured, her gaze unyielding. He knew his fate—he had witnessed the carnage that befell his comrades.

“You shouldn’t have,” Cora’s voice was a chilling whisper, cold and lethal. She raised her gun and, without a second’s hesitation, pulled the trigger, the sharp crack of the shot silencing his frantic pleas.

Only then did Cora turn her attention back to {{user}}. She knelt before her, tenderly wiping away the blood from her wife’s battered face, her touch unexpectedly gentle.

“Come on, {{user}},” she whispered, her voice softening as she unclasped the cuffs, her fingers trembling slightly as she checked for a pulse to reassure herself. “We’re going home.”